Into the Distance: A Soul in Tension
by jtm1848
Summary: As the Enterprise patrols near the Klingon border, Travis commands his first mission and Phlox encounters an ethical dilemma. Adaptation of "The Breach."


\- A SOUL IN TENSION -

According to shipboard rumor, Dr. Phlox held a total of twelve doctorate-level degrees in medicine, spanning four planetary governments, three major fields of study, and at least one degree that had to be created to match the physician's incomparable knowledge of xenobiology. In all this, Phlox did not have a true degree in veterinary medicine, but that was of little consequence: a cell is a cell, he reasoned, and non-sentient life is simply another aspect of xenobiology.

There was a time when the Denobulan physician was _the_ rising star within the Interspecies Medical Exchange, a cross-racial medical program devoted to promoting scientific exchange. The odds-on favorite to be the next director, Phlox nonetheless found himself disinterested in the administrative affairs of the Exchange, and when Captain Archer offered Phlox a permanent post as the Chief Medical Officer aboard the Earth starship _Enterprise_ , Phlox took the position without a second thought. In nearly four years, he had not looked back.

For Phlox was…a nontraditional doctor. On board the _Enterprise_ , he was allowed to explore the boundaries of modern medicine, and his immense curiosity was given free rein. Thus, his sickbay did not resemble the sterile, antiseptic look of contemporary hospitals; instead, it looked like a menagerie, for the doctor kept a wide array of animals, and was known to treat them like pets, rather than medical subjects.

"Feeding time?" Lieutenant Hoshi Sato asked as she stepped through the doors of sickbay. It was the noise that gave it away; the animals were in a cacophonous state, with a motley array of plaintive mewls, yips, and hisses as they awaited their dinner. This happened twice-daily in sickbay, and Hoshi rather enjoyed being present for it: she had grown up with pets, and Phlox's zoo helped her tinge of homesickness.

"When isn't it?" Phlox snorted humorously as he bustled around the room. "My Aldebaran field mice are still eating seven times a day. Another few weeks, although, and they'll grow out of it. Amazing, isn't it?" Hoshi watched as Phlox dropped a fistful of greenery into the mouse habitat, and one of the piercing screeches fell silent.

Phlox reached into a sample container and pulled out a bundle of fluffy hair. It had no head, no legs, no discernible body of any kind; _it's a bundle of fluff,_ Hoshi decided. Except it was quivering and mewling, so it must be alive. _It's kinda cute, too,_ Hoshi thought.

The animal kept quacking, so Hoshi reached out for it cautiously. "What is that?" she asked, trying hard to take it seriously.

"Don't worry, it won't bite," Phlox said, smiling, as he set the animal in Hoshi's palm. She looked at it closely. "It's actually extremely difficult to acquire," Phlox went on. "I had to get this one from a trader of somewhat ill-repute. They're outlawed on most worlds, and most legitimate dealers refuse to handle them."

"Why?" Hoshi asked, giving in to the sudden urge to cup the defenseless animal against her breast. "I can't believe it's dangerous."

"Oh, only in a matter of speaking," Phlox answered. "All it's capable of doing, really, is eating and breeding." He took the tribble back. "The problem is that they breed quite prodigiously," he added wryly. "As near as anyone can tell, they're _born_ pregnant, and have new litters every twelve hours or so. Without proper care, even a single tribble can overrun a world."

Phlox dropped the ball of fur through the open hatch of a cage, where it disappeared beneath lush, green foliage. The cage instantly started rattling, causing Hoshi to jump back, and a high-pitched screech lasted several seconds before dieing off. "The only thing that keeps their population in check is the abundance of reptiles on their homeworld," Phlox explained. "Evidently, they're quite tasty."

Hoshi stared through the wire cage, uncertain of how to respond. A satisfied _crickt_ made her face turn green.

"Are you feeling all right, Lieutenant?" Phlox asked, noticing the disconcerted look on Hoshi's face.

Without taking her eyes off the cage, Hoshi handed Phlox a data padd that she had been carrying under her arm. "I just came by to give you this transmission," she said, her voice wavering slightly. As the _Enterprise_ 's communications and linguistics officer, Hoshi Sato nonetheless did not make many house calls with messages, but had used this one as an excuse to visit the menagerie. _And I won't do that again,_ she thought to herself.

"Thank you, Ensign," Phlox replied, giving Hoshi a broad grin. "When did it come in?"

"Just a few minutes ago," Hoshi answered, finally averting her gaze from the wire cage. "It's from the Denobulan Science Academy. Marked 'urgent.'"

Phlox's face fell as he read the transmission.

…

Captain's Log, November 1, 2154. At the request of the Denobulan government—relayed through Dr. Phlox—the _Enterprise_ has detoured to the star system of Psi Ursa Majoris to retrieve three of their scientists. According to the Vulcan records, the fourth planet is a non-aligned trading colony; however, the doctor reports—according to the Denobulan government—that a junta has recently seized military control.

"These caverns go on for fifty kilometers," the ship's pilot, Lieutenant Travis Mayweather, observed as he looked at the waist-high console before him. The flat computer monitor filled the middle of the briefing alcove at the rear of the _Enterprise_ 's bridge, and Travis rotated the diagram of tunnels on the screen, trying to imprint the two-dimensional map in the three-dimensional terms that spatial navigation used.

"They've mapped fifty kilometers," Phlox corrected the young navigator. "No one knows exactly how far they extend, but the estimates are pretty extensive. The geology itself is unstable, so no one wants to go too far in."

"What were these scientists of yours doing down there?" Trip asked tartly. It didn't exactly sound like a picnic site to him.

"This cave system is known across the sector for its mineral formations," Phlox answered, unruffled. "Some fluke in the planet's formation resulted in an unusually wide array of rare elements and ores. It's a geologist's dream." He shrugged; he personally preferred the living to the inanimate. "The speleothem crystals are supposed to be without match."

"They've been underground for six months," Archer added, pulling the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Communications in the caverns are spotty at best, but the scientists set up a line of transmitters as they went. Unfortunately, the Denobulan Science Academy lost all contact with them three weeks ago. The last readings indicated the surface transmitter went offline."

"It could just be a power failure," Trip observed. "That's no reason to pull the scientists out—we could just repair the transmitter."

"Unfortunately, it's probably more than that," Archer countered. "The colonial government has been politically unstable for several years. In the last few weeks, a military faction seized control in a coup d'etat."

"What does that have to do with the scientists?" Trip asked.

"The new government is demanding that all off-worlders leave," Phlox answered. "There's been a general wave of violence against the resident aliens—several have been killed, and their homes and businesses have been destroyed. The new government knows that the scientists are in the caverns, and it appears likely that the military—or at least a pro-military group—broke the transmitter."

"The government has promised to imprison any off-worlders who remain on Psi Ursa Majoris," Archer added, "or possibly do worse."

"But why don't the Denobulans evacuate their own scientists?" This question came from the _Enterprise_ 's tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Malcolm Reed.

"They can't get here in time," Archer replied. "The _Enterprise_ is less than a day away."

"So we're doing this as a gesture of friendship?" Malcolm's precise, clipped tones betrayed his military heritage.

"Starfleet is interested in furthering our ties with the Denobulan government." Archer glanced at Phlox. "Plus we have a personal interest."

"Well, then," Malcolm observed, "how do we get them out?"

"First, we have to find them," Archer answered. "They left some trail, but those caverns are vast." He turned to Travis. "Lieutenant, you've had some caving experience, haven't you?"

Mayweather stood up straight. "There are some pretty steep inclines, but I think I can handle it," he said confidently.

"Wait a sec," Trip's head rotated on a pivot. "You grew up on a space freighter, Travis! When did you go caving?"

"Draylax has a number of caves," Travis explained, referencing the planet at the other end of his parents' cargo runs. "Whenever we had a layover, we'd spend it spelunking. They weren't easy caves, either."

"Trip, Malcolm, do either of you have caving experience?" Archer asked, selecting his rescue team.

Trip glanced at Malcolm. "I grew up above ground, Captain, but I'm sure Travis is an excellent teacher. We'll be fine."

"All right, then," Archer answered. "Get some gear together, and be ready to go when we enter orbit." With a final "aye, sir," the three officers turned and left.

Phlox caught the captain before he left. "I realize that this was an unusual request, Captain," he said, his face serious. "I want to thank you."

Archer smiled. "Happy to help, Doctor."

…

"Pitons!"

"All here!"

"Ration packs?"

"A week's worth!"

"Flex-cable?"

"Five hundred meters!"

"Waste disposal units?"

"What?"

"We take out _everything_ we bring in," Travis answered with a sly smile. Travis, Malcolm, and Trip were in the launch bay, conducting their final pre-flight check. Once they were in the caverns below, they would be unable to return to the surface for more supplies, or even call the _Enterprise,_ for that matter. At the same time, since they had to carry the supplies in on their backs, space and weight was at a premium. _Thank god for light-weight carbon alloys_ , Travis mused. The three officers had further exchanged their dark blue duty coveralls for lighter, tan jumpsuits designed for extended planet-side missions.

For his part, Trip swore he could hear Malcolm chuckling behind him, but he opted to glare at the waste disposal pack.

"How soon will you be ready?" Three heads turned as Captain Archer strode into the launch bay. The captain walked with his usual, confident stride, but his body language bespoke a noticeable degree of tension and concern.

"We should be ready to take off in a couple hours," Travis responded. Even though he was the lowest-ranked officer—even with his recent promotion—by virtue of his caving experience, he was the _de facto_ leader of the mission. _And the little bastard's enjoying it, too,_ Trip thought jokingly.

"I just spoke to the Office of the Military Governor," Archer went on. _It's amazing how quickly they sent up a new bureaucracy_. "The Governor's issued a general order requiring all aliens to leave the planet immediately, but he agreed to give us three days to find and retrieve the scientists."

"That's not much time," Trip answered, frowning.

Archer nodded. "We're lucky to have that much. When you hit the surface, you need to get in and out—the military's already preparing search patrols to arrest any stray off-worlders, and there's no guarantee that they won't get overeager."

"Captain," Travis said skeptically, "those caverns are pretty extensive. It could take us awhile to track down the scientists."

"You don't have that choice, Travis," Archer responded firmly. "If you haven't found them in a day and a half, I want you to turn around and head back."

Malcolm nodded in understanding. "And if _we_ can't find them, odds are they can hide out from the patrols for some time."

"Exactly," Archer answered. "But I don't want my officers stranded in those caverns."

"No arguments here," Trip added with a wry smile. "Plus, we'd run out of waste disposal units."

…

Although the planet below them was Class-M, it looked considerably different than any oxygen-nitrogen planet that Travis had visited. As near as he could tell, the planet was a giant, frozen desert, not unlike Patagonia or chunks of Antarctica. The surface of the planet was a dull tan, unbroken by any ocean, and only small bodies of faint, blue water interspersed the craggy mountain ranges. _More like a mixture of Vulcan and Andor,_ Travis decided.

"I think we're flying the wrong way," Trip commented from the secondary controls. One looking on might get that impression: while there was considerable traffic, it was all flowing one-way. The shuttlepod was traveling on a firm 180º course from the rest, which consisted of aliens hastily fleeing the surface below.

"Hang on," Travis announced. "We're set for atmospheric entry."

…

Three hundred kilometers away, Shuttlepod One sat perched on a rocky ledge bordering a weather-beaten hole in the rock face. "Don't forget where we parked," Trip quipped, earning him two groans. _It's actually kinda scenic,_ Trip decided; the cavern system was located amidst a deserted mountain range, reaching several kilometers above the planet's surface. From their vantage point, the sky was a clear blue that bathed the snow-capped mountains with an azure hue, and not a single cloud tarried in the sky. _Of course,_ Trip reflected, _we're going to spend the rest of our stay in the bowels of these rocks._

With Travis in the lead, the three officers entered the hole, and the sunlight snuffed out behind him. The tunnel was quite large, tall enough for a human to comfortably stand, and broad enough to swing one's arms. Travis peered into the darkness ahead. There was a good chance that the tunnel would not shrink for several kilometers. While he was accustomed to spelunking through narrow tunnels, the rookies behind him were not.

"What have you got?" Trip asked, standing in the vestibule of the cavern. "Any sign that the Denobulans came this way?"

Malcolm was surveying the tunnel with a scanner. "Nothing but three humans," he replied. "One of which is not entirely convinced we're going in the right direction."

"Make that two," Trip responded.

"This is the nearest entrance to their campsite," Travis intervened, confident in his assessment. "I'd be willing to bet they came this way."

Trip gave Malcolm a look, but the tactical officer shrugged, and gestured forward, as if to say, _after you._ With a final glance back at the disappearing sunlight, Trip turned and followed Travis' retreating back into the blackness.

…

Archer reclined in his ready room, enjoying the few moments of peace and solitude that he could snatch. On a ship the size of the _Enterprise_ —the saucer section was not quite 160 meters—the captain never truly got away from his duties; aside from the ubiquitous presence of the intercom, his constant proximity to the bridge meant that Archer was only seconds away.

The intercom sounded, but Archer refused to groan. He had not expected much of a respite; with the tense situation below, he knew he would be on call every minute of the next three days.

"What's the problem?" he asked, hitting the intercom. He was already on his feet and out the door.

Commander T'Pol, his hybrid first officer/science officer, answered. "One of the transports leaving the planet just declared an emergency." She looked up as Archer stepped onto the bridge.

The viewscreen was thick with ships, all of them carrying refugees away from the planet below. It amazed Archer that there were so many, but a part of him also recognized that what he saw represented a comparatively-minute number of people.

Hoshi, seated behind the comm station, was focusing intently on her earpiece. "Their reactor casings ruptured," she reported, pursing her brow as she sought to mentally filter the overlapping comm traffic. Not one person in ten thousand could do it, but Lieutenant Sato was a prodigy. "Their captain's asking the military governor for permission to return to the surface."

"What's the immediate danger?" Archer asked, taking his command seat.

"No substantial risk of explosion," T'Pol reported. "But they're unable to hold their altitude."

Archer nodded, taking the information in. "Hoshi, can you put the comm on speaker?"

The communications between the alien vessel and the new authorities popped up mid-conversation. "Several compartments have flooded with radiation," the alien commander was saying. "I have injured passengers and crew. We need to abandon our ship, and we need medical aide!"

"Your request to land has been denied," the officer responded firmly, with what sounded like repeated impatience. "All off-worlders have been banned. You are ordered to leave orbit immediately."

"How?" the alien replied in disbelief. "Our situation is critical! We need immediate assistance!"

"We're tracking your vessel," the officer responded. "If you attempt to land, we will commence—" Archer waved his hand, signaling to Hoshi to cut the audio.

Archer bit his lip. It wasn't an Earth ship, it wasn't a human crew, and it wasn't even one of Earth's tentative friends. By all rights, the military government was obligated to provide the needed assistance, and he didn't particularly like the notion of bringing the _Enterprise_ anywhere near a vessel with severe radiation leaks. _But I can't just leave them,_ he told himself, _whoever they are._

His decision was made quickly. "Where are they?"

"In a low orbit," T'Pol reported. "Six hundred kilometers below us, and falling fast. I estimate their structural integrity will collapse in…sixty-two seconds."

 _And spread radiation in the atmosphere,_ Archer thought. _And yet the military government refuses to do anything._ "Set an intercept course," he ordered. Ensign Chase, standing in as the relief navigations officer, brought the _Enterprise_ around in a sharp curve.

"Get the grappler ready," Archer went on, before returning his attention to Hoshi. "Open a channel." As the crew around him leapt to obey, Archer settled back in his chair with a content smile on his face. With three officers—three friends—out of communication on the planet below, the prospect of sitting around and waiting for three days filled him with nervous dread. It felt good to be in action instead, to be doing _something_. The bridge crew—half senior staff, and half relief officers—functioned smoothly, allowing Archer to focus on the task at hand.

"I have them, Captain," Hoshi called out.

"Alien vessel!" Archer spoke loudly. "This is the _Enterprise_!"

The comm channel filled with static as the alien ship plummeted into the colony's ionosphere. " _Enterprise_! We have an emergency! Repeat, we have an emergency!"

The orbital lanes were filled with transport ships, but Chase deftly maneuvered the _Enterprise_ around the obstacles with minimal jinking. Seconds later, the path in front lay clear, and the alien ship appeared clearly on the viewscreen. "Alien vessel!" Archer called out again. "We're going to take you in tow! Prepare to cut your engines!"

Without waiting for a response, Archer stood up in eagerness. "Tactical!"

"Grappler ready, sir!" Ensign Neda Rahimi, manning tactical, responded promptly.

"Launch!" Archer watched as the grappling hand shot out from under the saucer, leaping across the gap between the two ships. It only took a second to cover the distance.

It missed.

"Retract and prepare to launch again!" Archer ordered, unperturbed. With the ion interference, he expected the targeting lock to be shaky. "Helm, bring us closer!"

"Thirty seconds!" T'Pol called our from the science station. "I'm picking up two military fighters!"

"Grappler retracted!" Rahimi reported a second later.

"Launch!" Archer ordered. This time, it flew true, and the captain's anticipation was rewarded with the sight of the grappling hand latched firmly onto the alien ship. "Alien vessel, cut your engines!" he shouted. "Rahimi, retract the grappler—conn, ease us back!" His officers matched his fervor with alacrity.

"We're clear!" Chase reported from the front of the bridge.

T'Pol followed suit a moment later. "The alien vessel is clear," she said, considerably calmer. "The military fighters are veering off."

Archer was on his way to the turbolift. "Conn, tactical," he shouted behind him, "bring the ship into port docking! Hoshi, have Phlox send medics! T'Pol, you're with me!"

…

As they worked their way through the tunnels, Travis couldn't help but notice that a geologist would find no end of curiosities to explore and explain within the mountainous rock. They had traveled for an hour, now; not long, as far as caving goes, but enough to work their way into the maze of caverns and burrows that lined the mountain.

At one time, Travis reasoned, this must have been an active volcano; the plethora of tunnels, their size, and their smooth walls all indicated that they had been created by superheated magma flows. The interspersed caverns, no doubt, were formed by pockets of the molten rock, and sensing the kilometers of rock suspended over their heads, Travis could not help but be impressed by the forces necessary to drive the fiery rubble through pure bedrock. Despite himself, Travis couldn't help but be excited; he felt like an old-fashioned explorer, poking through old mining shafts and mineral veins, hiding from Injun Joe and searching for the treasure.

"Watch your footing," Travis cautioned, running his blue-light palm beacon over the floor of the tunnel as he banished the thoughts of Tom Sawyer from his mind. "There's a lot of loose rock here."

"Just so long as there's none overhead," Malcolm muttered, flipping his own palm beacon to survey the rock above them. "I don't relish the idea of being conked in the head by one of these."

"The last cave I was in had handrails," Trip added, in a tone hovering somewhere between flippancy and grousing. "And a gift shop. And a snack bar." The engineer chose his footing carefully, stepping between the rocky debris littering the tunnel floor.

"Lieutenant!" Malcolm called out over his shoulder. "There's an opening over here."

Travis stepped lightly across the floor. "It's a beauty, too," he said, softly, running his palm beacon over the opening Malcolm had found. What had initially appeared to be nothing more than a craggy shadow was, on closer inspection, the entrance to a bisecting tunnel, large enough for the three officers to walk comfortably. Travis ran his hand along the smooth walls and whistled appreciatively.

Next to Travis, Malcolm was surveying the tunnel with a hand scanner. The dense magnetic ores in the mountain limited the scanning range to under twenty-five meters, but it was enough. "This tunnel angles downward," Malcolm reported. "In the direction of the scientists' last reported position."

"Let's go for it, then," Travis said, the darkness hiding the smile on his face.

"After you, Macduff." Trip gestured with his hand. Travis entered the tunnel and led the small party deeper into the mountain.

…

Bypassing the docking port entirely, Archer went straight to sickbay, but was still beaten by the choreographed freneticism of Phlox's medical team. _Just the way I like it,_ Archer thought, before cringing at the sight of the wounded crew. _Maybe not_ just _the way I like it._

Phlox was moving between the biobeds like a man possessed. "There could be internal bleeding!" he called out to a medic. "Run a hemostatic scan!" He pivoted, taking a padd from another assistant, and scanned its contents in a second. "Treat with dermalin gel and give him two cc's anaprovaline for the pain," he ordered, and he turned to pat another refugee on the back. "Don't worry, you're going to be fine," he said with a reassuring smile.

Sensing the sickbay doors sliding open behind him, Archer stepped aside as crewmen Yang and Kozuri carried another refugee in on a stretcher. "Doctor!" Yang shouted over the bedlam, grabbing Phlox's attention. "We have radiation burns! He was working near the reactor when it ruptured!"

Phlox was halfway across sickbay before he pulled to an abrupt halt. His face fell in sudden dismay as he saw the refugee. "Doctor?" Kozuri asked, confused by Phlox's reaction.

Phlox shook off his daze, but his voice was rattled. "Get him into the imaging chamber," he ordered.

…

"Shit," Trip muttered fifteen minutes later. The tunnel had led them on a twisting, convoluted path, spiking up and down, widening and narrowing with no apparent pattern. After crawling through a narrower point—from Travis' perspective, not that bad; it was still as large as the access conduits onboard the _Enterprise_ , and a human could move comfortably on all fours—the three officers had stepped out into a cavern. Trip and Malcolm and initially welcomed the airy space, until they got a full look at it.

They were standing on a narrow ledge, high on the side of a vast cavern. It rose a good seven or eight meters above their head; more importantly, it was a straight drop of seventy or eighty meters below them. The ledge they stood on was no more than a couple square meters, and the horizontal span of the cavern was—Trip peered across it, but the light vanished before he could see the other side.

"It's like a cathedral," Travis said excitedly, standing on the precipice. The soaring heights above him, the sweeping depths below, the natural majesty of the cavern—how could anyone _not_ like it?

Malcolm edged forward far more hesitantly. "Still willing to bet they came this way?" he asked, peering over the side. The light of his palm beacon was swallowed up by the darkness below them.

"Yes, sir," Travis answered confidently. "Which means we're going this way."

"Isn't there a beginner's cliff we can start on?" Trip asked, less sure of the prospect of climbing down a sheer, black cliff.

"Don't worry," Travis replied, scanning the first ten or so meters with his eyes. "I'll go first. Just follow my lead." This earned raised eyebrows from Commander Tucker, but Trip said nothing more.

Like the well-trained officers they were, the three men swiftly prepared for their descent, driving pitons into the rock and securing one end of the flex-cable thereto. Next came the abseiling belts around their waists, hooked onto the cable that would be their guide and support. Checking each other's connections, they quickly found themselves ready.

Travis stepped over the rock face, letting himself fall down a meter before his body swung back into the cliff, and he caught himself with his feet. He took another two jumps down, checking each meter with his beacon first, before Malcolm stepped over the edge, following the lead of the younger officer. Trip came last, waiting for the first two clear the space below them.

"I don't suppose—" Trip called out, his sentence broken by the effort of stopping his decline. "—there's an elevator!"

"Think of the—" Travis answered, using the seconds of free fall to speak. "—adventure!"

"Think of the—" Malcolm countered. "—fall!" Travis smiled again, realizing that the two older officers were just giving him a rough time. _Although,_ he thought, _if the descent gets any harder, their attitudes could become a problem._ With another push off the wall, Travis dropped another meter.

…

After the bedlam earlier, Captain Archer was glad to see that main sickbay had quieted down. Happy to keep himself busy, Archer had personally relocated most of their new passengers to temporary quarters, and he noted that a couple of the biobeds had been emptied; on second glance, he realized that only three patients remained. Phlox was one of the best, he knew, but it still amazed him to see the Denobulan in action.

"Ah, Captain, what can I do for you?" Phlox said, looking up as Archer entered.

"Doctor," Archer replied in acknowledgement. "How's it going?"

Phlox lead Archer to the first two patients. "These two are doing well," the physician answered. "They came in with third-degree plasma burns and cellular disruption from the radiation, but we stabilized them, and with ongoing treatment they should be just fine."

Archer nodded. "What about him?" the captain asked, nodding towards the third patient.

It was the man who had caused Phlox to balk during triage. "His case is more serious," Phlox answered, his voice becoming terse. "His body absorbed a heavy dose of radiation. I've stabilized him for now, but he's going to need intra-cellular regeneration."

"I'm familiar with the term," Archer mused. "What are his chances?"

"Oh, it's a complex procedure, but if done properly, his odds of recovering are quite strong."

The patient chose that moment to wake up, triggering three different medical alerts and capturing the captain's attention with a gasped breath. It was ragged but strong. As Archer watched Phlox scurry across sickbay to turn off the alarms, he decided that there was no time like the present to welcome the alien on board.

"Hello," Archer said gently, standing next to the biobed. He looked down at the patient, hoping to communicate to the alien that everything was okay.

"Where am I?" the patient asked, gasping for breath from the effort of speaking. With each breath, he sounded stronger, but it was still clearly a laborious task.

"You're on board the _Enterprise_ ," the captain answered gently. "I'm Captain Archer." At the alien's confused look, he went on. "We're from a planet called Earth—we're still new to the stars, but we'd like to think that we know what we're doing. Our doctor is one of the best."

"My name is—Gathoni," the alien answered, his chest rising and falling with the effort of breathing. "What happened?"

"There was an accident on your transport," Archer answered. "A problem with your warp reactor. We pulled your entire crew to safety, but you suffered some radiation damage." He would let Phlox explain the details to Gathoni.

Gathoni looked around his surroundings for the first time, taking in the alien environment with wide eyes. It was far brighter than anything he was used to; the air smelled cleaner, and compared to his own transport, he could barely hear the sound of machinery. _Whoever these Earthers are,_ he thought, _their technology must be better than our own. Why have I never heard of them?_

Then disaster struck.

As Phlox stepped towards the biobed, he entered the roving range of Gathoni's eyes. Upon seeing the Denobulan physician, Gathoni physically drew back into the biobed, a look of pure revulsion sweeping across his face. "What's _he_ doing here?" Gathoni demanded, his eyes spitting fire.

Archer looked back and forth between the two, confused. Phlox stood silent, a grim frown replacing his usually jovial expression. "He's our doctor," the captain answered at last, uncertain what the right response was.

Gathoni averted his gaze to Archer, pleading with his eyes. "Keep him away from me," he said, desperation peaking in his voice. "Don't let that—that _thing_ —touch me!"

Try as he might, Archer could make no sense of Gathoni's reaction. "He's our doctor," Archer repeated. "He's the only one here who can treat you. You need his help."

"I'd rather die than be treated by him!"

…

A part of Trip was glad that the cavern was so dark. Abseiling over the edge of a cliff was a lot easier when he couldn't see how far it was to the bottom. _On the other hand_ , he thought, _a break would be nice._ The rock face was interminable, unvarying in its appearance, and even his trained mind was starting to lose track of how much time they had spent on the descent.

"Watch your footing, sir," Travis called out from below, returning Trip's focus to the cliff. The engineer cringed momentarily, wondering how much rock and gravel he had knocked loose. _Probably shouldn't give Travis a rock shower._

With that thought, Trip's feet caught a crag that exploded on impact, sending a cascade downwards and leaving Commander Tucker dangling in midair.

"Travis!" Malcolm called out in alarm.

"Stay calm!" Travis shouted upwards. "Don't struggle against your rope! It'll hold you!"

"I'm all right!" Trip responded, catching his breath. "Just testing the rope!" Using his body weight to accentuate the swing, Trip brought himself back to the rock face, where he steadied himself with a handhold.

Below them, the faint sound of the loose rocks hitting the floor finally echoed upwards. "How much further do we have?" Malcolm commented, groaning.

Travis couldn't resist needling the two other officers. "Just a hop and a jump!"

"You realize that when we get back to the _Enterprise,_ I'm going to have you scrub every plasma conduit, right?" Trip called out, pushing back off from the cliff. "With a toothbrush!"

"There's a ledge about five meters down!" Travis called out. "Why don't you old men take a break? I'll scout out what's below!"

With a satisfying _thud_ , Malcolm and Trip landed on the ledge, testing it to make sure it could hold their weight. "Commander," Malcolm said thoughtfully, "maybe we could leave Travis here."

Trip chuckled. "Then how the hell would we get back?" He glanced over the edge and watched the ensign's palm beacon fade into the blackness.

Malcolm flashed his own beacon at a small, plastoid container wedged in a crevasse. "Hey, what's that?"

Trip reached down to retrieve it, dusting off the thin film that coated it. "There's some writing on here—I think it's Denobulan. I've seen characters like these in Phlox's medical books." Trip flipped the container open, and pulled out a rock.

Malcolm glanced over Trip's shoulder. "You don't suppose Denobulans carry out everything they bring in?" the tactical officer asked suspiciously.

Trip glowered at Malcolm. "It's a rock." He looked more closely at the sample. "You don't suppose it's a speleothem, do you?"

"How would I know?" Malcolm answered wryly. "I thought it was a—"

Trip cut him off. "It's proof we're on the right track. Looks like the kid knows what he's doing."

…

Out in the corridor, Archer pinched the bridge of his nose. What had started as a productive day was rapidly becoming a headache, and a part of him dreaded asking the necessary questions.

"Doctor," he began, using the sharp pain between his brows to help him focus, "what the hell was that all about?"

"It's difficult to explain," Phlox answered, clearly reluctant to talk about it.

Archer shot the doctor a pointed look. "Explain anyway."

Phlox sighed. "That man's an Antaran," the doctor replied. "Our two species have a…complicated history."

Archer answered with another heated glare. "Denobula has gone to war with the Antarans on several occasions," Phlox added finally.

"Recently?" Archer challenged, not quite understanding how war could degenerate into such powerful revulsion.

"On the contrary," Phlox responded, "it's been three hundred years since our last conflict."

"Three hundred years ago, humans were still using outhouses," Archer shot back. "Don't tell me there's still bad blood between you?"

"They were particularly bitter disputes," Phlox answered unwillingly. "There's a certain—racial animosity—that still exists."

"It can't be that bad," Archer replied, reluctant to accept the explanation.

"Captain," Phlox answered with a steady look, "who do you think coined the term 'Denobulan slime devil'?"

"You mean there's _not_ such a thing as—" Archer broke off. "Okay, so he doesn't like you. But it's his life on the line. If you explain to him that he won't survive without your help, maybe he'd set the past aside for a few hours."

"I seriously doubt it. He couldn't even tolerate being in the same room with me—he insisted I leave sickbay. I don't think you realize just how much bad blood there is."

"I can't believe that he would rather die than let you treat him!" Archer exploded furiously. "I'm sure there's a way to get through to him, we just have to find it!"

Phlox countered the captain's fury with a quiet serenity. "Captain, it has been my experience that not all races—not all individuals—are as willing to forgive the past as you humans are."

"Well, we—" Archer caught himself short, remembering some of the more grotesque examples from his own planet's history. "There has to be a way," he repeated, thinking to himself. "What if you sedated him and then performed the treatment?"

Phlox's look of revulsion matched Gathoni's. "I have to respect his wishes. If he doesn't want me to treat him, then I'm bound to not do so."

"Even if he dies?"

"The will of the patient is the cornerstone of medical ethics."

"Don't you believe that if you can help someone, you're ethically bound to do so?" Archer argued.

"Hippocrates died twenty-five hundreds years ago," Phlox answered, unwavering. "Both Denobulan _and_ human medicine respect the right of the patient to forgo life-saving treatment. To force it on a patient is assault and battery."

Archer's temper flared. "Nonetheless, this is _my_ ship, Doctor. I won't let that man die in my sickbay!"

"Without his consent, there is nothing I can do."

"Aren't you even going to _try_ , Doctor?" Archer regretted the words the second they left his mouth. "I'm sorry, Phlox, I know you'll do everything you can to change his mind. But isn't there some way to provide the treatment?" He paused. "What if I gave you a direct order?"

"I'm sorry too, Captain," Phlox replied firmly, "but I would be unable to follow it."

…

While Trip was sick and tired of staring at the cliff face by the time they reached the bottom, a part of him was glad that there _was_ a bottom. They had been descending into the darkness for several hours, and as each hour passed, the possibility that the broad shaft was essentially bottomless had grown in Trip's mind. _A couple more meters,_ became his mantra. _A couple more meters and we'll hit the floor._

Travis, meanwhile, was already plotting the next leg of their course. At the foot of the shaft, it broadened out into another cavern, with two person-sized tunnels branching out at right angles from each other. Mayweather was ten or so meters down one tunnel

Malcolm was standing in the cavern, unsuccessfully attempting to map the tunnels with a hand scanner. The density of the rock, and the high concentration of reflective ores, thwarted the sensors, leaving Commander Reed scowling.

Trip stood at the fork of the tunnels. "Toss a coin?" he said, looking over his shoulder at Malcolm.

Travis emerged from the tunnel. "They went this way!" he called out, using his palm beacon to highlight the path.

"How can you be sure?" Trip asked, doubtfully. "It all looks the same to me."

Travis held out his hand. In it was a high-grade crystalline ore. "There's a vein of this stuff about twenty meters down," he said confidently, letting the other two inspect the rocks.

Malcolm held it up before his eyes. "If I was a geologist, that's definitely the way I'd go," he replied, agreeing with Travis' assessment.

Trip gestured ahead. "Lead the way, Travis."

…

Archer stepped quietly around the privacy curtain, checking to see if Gathoni was awake, and was rewarded by two open eyes. _There's no time like the present,_ Archer told himself, firming himself for the task ahead.

"How are you feeling?" the captain asked, stepping towards the biobed.

"I'd like to return to my ship," Gathoni replied with a steely expression. He was clearly uncomfortable on board the _Enterprise,_ but was doing his best to maintain a civil tone.

"Your ship was badly damaged by the reactor leak," Archer told him, breaking the news gingerly. "It'll be a few days before it's safe for you to return."

Archer took a second to focus his thoughts. He had prepared his remarks, but as usual, when the time came he relied on the top of his head. "You were exposed to high levels of radiation," he began. "You need comprehensive treatment."

Gathoni scowled. "I prefer to be treated by another physician."

Archer returned the expression. "We only _have_ one physician. And Phlox is the best in the sector. If you let him treat you, he'll be able to repair _all_ of the cellular damage, but if you don't let him operate, you won't survive for more than two days."

"Phlox is a Denobulan," Gathoni retorted, snorting.

"I can assure you, Phlox is an excellent doctor," Archer said, keeping his response level. "I understand there's a troubled history between your peoples, but I know Phlox. He won't do anything to harm you. His personal ethics require that he does no harm to _any_ living being."

Gathoni glared up at Archer. "What do you know about our history, Captain? Did Phlox tell you all about it? Did he tell you about the valiant Denobulan troops fighting for the glory of their homeworld? Or the noble sacrifices made by their soldiers in the name of _their_ liberty?" His face was covered with scorn. "Did he tell you that their battle tactics alone resulted in over twenty million Antaran casualties? Did he tell you that their favorite tactic was to drop bombs on civilians, so that their noble pilots would not even be exposed to danger? Did he tell you about the relocation camps, the medical centers, the biological experiments?"

Archer swallowed hard, trying to clear his throat of the rising lump. "He wasn't that specific."

"I imagine not," Gathoni answered softly. "They've been very successful at putting it behind them. But then again, it's easier for them: Denobula wasn't a combat zone. We Antarans—" Gathoni shuddered. "We're surrounded by the wreckage every minute of every day."

The captain took a deep breath before continuing. "Do you _want_ to become a casualty of a war that ended three hundred years ago?"

Gathoni's gaze remained steely. "I see your physician has been less than honest with you, Captain. Ended? The Wars never ended. At least, not as far as Denobula is concerned. No, the fighting may have ended, but in three centuries, Denobula has not offered a single apology, nor made a single offer to help us rebuild Antaria. They've been perfectly happy to let us live in refugee camps, to let us struggle to survive in a shattered ecosphere. Denobula is only happy when Antaria is broken, and they've been more than happy to _keep_ us down."

Archer sat down on the side of the bed, using the added moment to collect his thoughts. "Whatever the sins of Denobula are, Phlox is an individual person," he said finally. "You can't hold him accountable for the actions of his people."

"Has he done anything to oppose those actions?"

"Gathoni, everything that has happened between your peoples _doesn't_ change your situation. You need intensive treatment, which Phlox can provide. He's been my Chief Medical Officer for nearly two years. I've never questioned his skill _or_ his integrity."

"It's quite possible he's a proficient surgeon," Gathoni spat out, "but I don't intend to find out. I won't let that slime devil touch me."

"You'd rather die?" Archer challenged.

"Than leave myself to his tender mercies? Of course, Captain. Death is far preferable to being the subject of Denobulan medical _treatments._ "

Archer gritted his teeth. "I told you, Phlox's ethics are impeccable."

Gathoni's gaze was fiery. "And what if they are? You expect me to live the rest of my life, knowing that I owe it all to a _Denobulan_?"

"At least you'd be alive," Archer countered, at a loss for a good retort.

"I'm the first Antaran to even _see_ a Denobulan in six generations! I will not have anything to do with him!"

"If you spend some time with him," Archer countered, "it might change your perception of them."

"And a few hours in our historical archives might change yours," Gathoni replied angrily.

"I prefer to make my judgments based on firsthand experience," Archer answered steely. "I respect your history and the sacrifices your people were forced to make. But I know from the history of my own planet that people _change_ , and what may be true of the larger group says nothing about an individual member. The Denobulans you're describing are not the ones I've met, and they're definitely not Phlox. Don't sacrifice your life based on assumptions."

Archer stood up and left before Gathoni could respond.

…

Ten minutes later, Trip decided that the mountain didn't like them. Or didn't like him, at least; Travis seemed to be enjoying himself. After twisting and turning, the tunnel brought them to another broad cavern with another narrow ledge. _What were the odds of that?_ Trip thought sardonically.

"Stay close to the wall," Travis spoke up, cautioning the other two. "The edge looks unstable."

"I don't have much choice," Malcolm muttered. The ledge was barely wide enough to stand on. "Travis, what do you make of that ridge over there?" Reed used his beacon to illuminate the targeted rock.

Flashing his own light around, Travis noticed that the walls of this cavern were covered with thin ridges, like the one they were standing on. The ridge highlighted by Malcolm neatly came to an end a half meter or so away, and sloped gently downwards. Following it with his beacon, Travis noticed another ridge several meters down, and then another. By moving—cautiously—from ridge to ridge, the caving would be able to work their way down to the cavern floor.

"Be careful—those slopes are steep," Travis warned, before sliding himself over the edge to the waiting platform below. He landed on it lightly, testing it with his weight as he came down. Satisfied that it would hold, he moved aside, letting Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed join him.

The three men eased downwards, keeping their backsides plastered to the cavern wall.

"It's getting steeper," Malcolm noted aloud, bringing Travis to a halt.

"Let me lock off here," Travis said, fiddling with his flex-cable. "Check the safety, Commander." Attaching the cable to a piton, Ensign Mayweather sunk the metal rod into the rock wall, and tugged on it to ensure that it would hold firm. Beside him, holding tightly to the cable, Malcolm eased his way forward, using the cable to control his descent down a 45º incline.

Malcolm moved a second too soon.

The loose rock shot out from under Malcolm's feet, and Reed went over the edge in a shower of dust. Within a second, the slack cable jolted sharply, pulling first Trip and then Travis along the shelf, and the unsecured piton jerked out from the rock. In the darkness and out of control, the three officers barreled down the rocky ramp, centimeters away from the edge and a deadly plummet.

As they slid downwards, the ramp came to an end, dropping off into an eternal hole. First Reed, then Tucker, shot over the edge, gripping the flex-cable for dear life. Behind them, Travis twisted his body frantically, finally wedging his feet against a brace of stone and arresting their fall. Travis let out a scream of pain.

Trip and Malcolm swung in the air, gasping for breath. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Travis," Trip shouted upwards, "but it sure would help if you could pull us up!"

"Commander," Malcolm broke in, "try to swing to the cliff wall!" Trip's legs were dangling below him, but he gamely tried to reach the rock face. He didn't come close.

"I can't reach it!" Trip called out, flailing in the effort. Up above, he could hear Travis groaning in pain, and realized that they only had seconds before Mayweather would have to let go. Trip swung again, and flailing out, again failed to reach the wall. "I'm almost there!" he grunted out.

"I can't hold this much longer!" Travis yelled out.

Trip swallowed a sense of panic as he and Malcolm continued to swing in circles. "Stand by, Travis!" he shouted upwards. "Malcolm, let's swing together!"

"On your mark!" Reed responded.

Trip followed their natural swing until it brought him close enough to plant his feet on the rock. "One!" he barked out, pushing off. The two officers swung in an arc, and when they reached the other terminus, Trip found himself closer to the rock. "Two!" he barked, and this time, Malcolm was close enough to plant his feet as well, sending them swinging back. "Three!" Both officers gave their all, pushing off from the rock.

"Hurry up!" Travis bellowed out, feeling the cable begin to slip through his hands.

On the return swing, Trip violently jammed a piton into the cliff moments before the cable went slack. He and Malcolm fell another meter before the emergency piton caught, holding the weight of both men.

"We got it, Travis!" Trip called out, taking a deep breath. Gratefully, Travis let go of the cable, relieving the pressure on his fractured foot, and fell back onto the ledge, gasping for air. The adrenaline rush wore off quickly, the pain rapidly growing.

Firmly secured against the cliff face, it was only a matter of minutes for Trip and Malcolm to work their way back up to the ledge. When they got there, Trip pulled out the medikit and scanned Travis' foot.

"Is it broken?" Travis asked, gritting his teeth.

"Yep," Trip answered slowly, double-checking the readout. "Several hairline fractures. You tore a ligament, too."

"We need to keep moving." Travis grimaced. "Just give me something for the pain."

Trip injected a hypo into Travis' neck. "Sorry, Travis, but you're not going anywhere."

"I can make it, sir," Travis responded, his voice firming up with the impact of the painkillers.

"We're already behind schedule, _Lieutenant_ ," Malcolm countered. "We can't have you slowing up down."

"Don't worry, Travis," Trip added. "You'll be all right."

Travis looked up at his superior officers. "Respectfully, sir, it's not me that I'm worried about. I might be moving slower, but without me, you won't make it at all."

Trip frowned. "I'm sure we can figure it out."

"Commander." Travis' voice grew hard. "With respect, the captain put _me_ in charge of this mission. I'd rather not have to give you a direct order, but I will if I have to. Neither of you knows enough about caving to find those scientists. The medikit has a plasticine cast which will keep my foot immobile and provide enough support."

Malcolm chuckled appreciatively. "If those are your orders, sir."

"Here, Malcolm, can you put some light on that?" Trip gestured to Travis' foot. "We'll have you up in no time, sir," Trip added with a friendly smile.

Travis sat back against the wall, unsure if the feeling of relief was due to the painkillers or the success with his first orders.

…

In over three years in space, Archer realized as he looked at his surroundings, he had never seen the inside of Phlox's quarters. _In fact,_ he reflected, _Phlox is ALWAYS in sickbay. When does he find the time to up quarters?_ The physician's room was covered with greenery and shrubs, including examples from several different worlds—there was a Rigelian bush shrub, a Haaga Twig bluebush from Alpha Centauri, and a Terran Aphrodite Rose of Sharon, along with many more that Archer couldn't identify. _And is that a hint of jasmine in the air?_

"Why haven't you mentioned this—this conflict before?" Archer asked the physician, tracking Phlox down between the green leaves.

"It wasn't our proudest moment," Phlox answered. "We've done our best to put it behind us. I suppose it's easier to do that by just forgetting about it, pretending like it never happened."

"How many times must a man turn his head/and pretend that he just doesn't see," Archer whispered, before shaking his head. "From what he told me, the Antarans don't have that option. Do you realize that you're the first Denobulan he's ever met?"

"And he is the first Antaran I've ever met," Phlox answered, shrugging.

"Doesn't that seem odd to you?" Archer asked, not understanding. The concept of not making rapprochement—it was alien to him. "Doesn't it seem odd that in three hundred years neither side has tried to reconcile?"

"As you pointed out, Captain, sometimes it's easier to pretend that the other side simply doesn't exist," Phlox responded.

"Easier doesn't make it _right_!" Archer slammed a palm into a bulkhead. "Maybe you strove to put it behind you too quickly!"

Phlox shrugged again. "I can't answer for all of Denobula, Captain."

"But you can answer for yourself," Archer shot back.

Phlox didn't take offense. "As I said before, the situation is complicated. Even if we wanted to, the Antarans are not ready for reconciliation. They're taught from birth that Denobulans are enemies to feared, reviled."

"This is your chance to prove them wrong!"

"I doubt I could, Captain," Phlox answered. "Their animosity towards us extends into the very fabric of their culture, of their sense of identity. It's not political, and it's not a matter of a few words here and there. Their hatred has become _racial._ And that is far beyond my ability to cure. I'm a physician, not a messiah."

Archer started pacing the room, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Don't you see your _own_ preconceptions at work, Doctor?" he retorted angrily. "I think I made some headway with him, but I won't be the one holding the scalpel. _You_ need to do this, Doctor, _you_ need to bridge this damned gap! Show him that he can trust you!"

Phlox stared disbelievingly at his captain. "Do you honestly think I can earn his trust in less than thirty-six hours? Undo a lifetime of hate in under two days? The best thing I can do for him is to stay out of sickbay, so that his final hours are as peaceful as possible!"

"All I'm asking is that you try!" Archer bellowed. "Your ethics might keep you from treating him, but nothing's stopping you from talking to him!" He strode to the door.

"Captain, I—" Phlox began.

Archer whirled around. "I don't want to hear it! You're a doctor! He's your patient! Find a way to help him! That's your job, isn't it?" Saying nothing more, the captain triggered the door controls and left, leaving Phlox swallowing the lump in his throat.

…

One by one, three backpacks shot out of a narrow tunnel, propelled forward equally by human strength and human grunting. The tunnel was barely wide enough to accommodate a human body, but scuff marks at the entrance indicated that the scientists had passed this way recently.

"Too bad Porthos isn't here," Trip called out, referring to the captain's beagle. "He'd love crawling through these tunnels!"

"How'd he feel about the rats that made them?" Travis answered lightly.

"What?!"

"C'mon, Commander!" Malcolm joined in. "Haven't you ever heard of R.O.U.S.s?"

"What the hell's an R.O.U.S.?" Trip demanded, twisting his bed around a slight curve in the tunnel.

"Rodents of unusual size!" Travis answered, grinning. He swept aside a dangling curtain of moss.

"Can you see anything up there, Travis?" Malcolm called out from the rear.

"I think I found the end of the tunnel!" Travis shouted back. "Another couple meters!"

"It looks like more of the same to me!" Trip countered.

"That's because you're staring at my ass!" Travis retorted, enjoying the give-and-take. The three officers fell silent for a minute, as they wormed their way out of the tunnel mouth and into another cavern.

"Are you sure this is the way they came?" Trip asked speculatively, flashing his beacon around the cavern walls.

"I didn't see any other passage," Travis said, checking his scanner readings. "We'll give it another half hour, then turn back. I—wait a second!" The scanner began beeping. "I'm picking up biosigns!"

"They must be close!" Malcolm said excitedly, recognizing the limited range of the scanner, deep inside the massive body of rock. "Can't be more than fifty meters or so!"

Travis flashed his beacon forward. "There's a crevasse over here, extending—as far as I can see! I'm willing to bet they're down this way!"

"Lead on," Trip replied, grinning at last.

…

Phlox moved about sickbay, softly humming a Terran folk tune in rhythm with his movements. He had little interest in music; unlike many sentient species, Denobulans had never developed a strong taste for it, but he had realized years previously that it helped his patients relax, and during his time on Earth, Phlox had enrolled in a music course to help develop his "tin ear." _Another bizarre human expression,_ he mused, chuckling.

Gathoni, still flat in his biobed, was pointedly ignoring the doctor, and Phlox slowly worked his way to the Antaran. With each step, Gathoni tried to turn his head further, until Phlox found himself looking at the back of the patient's neck. Shrugging mentally— _I can get just as good of a reading_ —Phlox brought his medical scanner up to take readings.

Glancing backwards, Gathoni tensed up, and lasted only seconds before he whirled his head around. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Phlox gave his best smile. "Checking your biosigns," he said, "nothing else."

"I'll save you the time," Gathoni spit out. "I'm still alive. I'm sure that disappoints you."

"On the contrary," Phlox replied, refusing to take the bait. "You are my patient, and I do _not_ like having my patients die." He lowered the scanner to survey the results.

"You'd rather have me alive to experiment on, wouldn't you?" Gathoni retorted. "What'll it be? Testing some alien disease? A new chemical weapon, perhaps? Or are you simply going to dump me in a vat of frozen water to test my endurance?"

Phlox gritted his teeth. "You're quite safe in my care."

"Oh, my apologies," Gathoni answered scornfully. "You truly _care_ about my recovery, don't you? What a dedicated healer you must be."

Phlox didn't like the bio readings, but realizing that Gathoni would misconstrue any comment about them, he opted for a safer—hopefully safer—route. "You're a long way from home," he tried. "Antaria is several sectors away. What brought you here?"

"Practicing your bedside manner?" Gathoni snorted.

With a conscious effort, Phlox choked back his initial response. "I enjoy a good challenge," he said instead. "You and I, I think, will become good friends by the time this is through. But you haven't answered my question."

Gathoni sighed. "I'm a teacher of xenomythology," he answered. "I study the legends of alien species—including your own, Denobulan. Some of them are quite bloody."

"I've always believed that the only danger of myths is taking them literally," Phlox replied. "Every culture has their violent myths, but only a few take them as command directives from the gods."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Gathoni shot back. "You clearly know more about the subject than I do. But then again, why not? A Denobulan who's never studied the topic is _still_ smarter than an Antaran who's studied it his entire life, right?"

"On the contrary," Phlox said, regaining his smile. That jab had completely missed. "I'd enjoy hearing your learned opinions on the subject. I imagine the diverse population on Xantoras made it ideal for your research—would you care to share your findings?"

Gathoni stayed silent.

" _Enterprise_ is here to pick up three Denobulan scientists," Phlox went on. "They also found this world uniquely suited to their research."

"How delightful that we have so much in common," Gathoni replied sarcastically. "Then again, I should have known that you weren't here to assist with the refugees. None of them are Denobulan, after all. I'm sure you didn't even _know_ about the expulsions until your own people got caught in it."

 _That one hit home_ , Phlox realized, biting the inside of his lip. _It does seem odd that, out of tens of thousands of refugees, the only ones we value are our blood-kin._

Gathoni stared up at the doctor's face, this time with curiosity. "Why _do_ you want to save my life?" he asked finally.

"I'm a doctor," Phlox answered firmly. "It's what I do." He turned to leave.

"How convenient," Gathoni replied, catching the doctor. "Light-years away from either of our homeworlds, and we still manage to find one another—an Antaran patient and a Denobulan physician. What are the chances? Perhaps…perhaps you didn't rescue the transport out of generosity. Perhaps you noticed my biosigns on board."

"What difference could that possibly make?" Phlox asked, hovering by the privacy curtain. He wanted to leave, to recollect his thoughts, but he knew that walking away in the middle of the conversation would do more harm than good.

"You _do_ want to save me, don't you?" Gathoni said suddenly. "But do you really believe that saving one Antaran will assuage your guilt for killing millions?"

Phlox let out an inward curse. "I haven't killed anyone."

"And now you have your chance," Gathoni retorted, satisfied with himself.

"Make up your mind," Phlox replied angrily. "Did I bring you here to save you, or to kill you?"

"I guess only time will tell," Gathoni answered softly. "If I die on this bed, I'll have my answer."

"If you die on this bed, it'll be because you refused medical treatment," Phlox snapped back. "I assure you, the regeneration procedure is quite safe. If you'll allow me to proceed—"

"You must know a great deal about my anatomy," Gathoni snarled, "if you're so sure that this procedure will work. But you've had plenty of experience with Antaran physiology, haven't you? After everything your doctors did to us!"

Phlox glared down at his patient, feeling his temper swell inside. Unwilling to trust it any longer, Phlox shoved aside the privacy curtain and stomped out, crossing sickbay in broad strides.

"Tell me!" Gathoni's voice followed him. "Were you raised listening to stories about my people? The evil Antarans, isn't it? Did they give you nightmares?"

"I could ask you the same question about my people," Phlox shot back, his voice carrying across the room. "Someone told you tales about us!"

"Do you have children?"

"What?" Phlox spun around.

"Did you tell those stories to them?" Gathoni challenged. "Did you teach them to despise Antarans, just like you were taught?"

"My children have nothing to do with this," Phlox stammered, visibly rattled.

"Don't they?" Gathoni snapped. "If they were here right now, what would they think about their father talking to an Antaran? Much less _treating_ one?"

"Enough!" Phlox shouted out, his patience ending. "Enough! I have tried to treat you with respect, I have tried to treat you as a patient, but I refuse to listen to these _insults_! You, you're the reason we haven't been able to put the past behind us!" He turned to storm out of the room. "You have kept this hatred alive!" he shouted on his way out. "No Denobulan would even want to be in the same room with you!"

And with that, Phlox was out the door.

…

When they reached the end of the crevasse, the officers stepped into a well-lit cavern, far larger than anything they had seen for kilometers. As their eyes adjusted to the light, they saw a plethora of scientific equipment and, even better, three Denobulans.

"Lieutenant," Malcolm said, giving Travis a pat on the back, "never let me question you again."

"I'll hold you to that, Commander," Mayweather replied, smiling. "But we're a long ways from home still."

As they stepped forward, one of the scientists came over to meet them. Dressed in dusty, gray dungarees, with long hair pulled back in a ponytail, Malcolm identified him as Yolen, the expedition leader. "Who are you?" the scientist demanded.

Trip stepped in front. "I'm Commander Tucker of the starship _Enterprise_ ," he said, still gulping in air. "This is Lieutenant Commander Reed, and our fearless leader, Lieutenant Mayweather."

Yolen looked at them doubtfully. "I hope you won't think I'm rude," he said, gesturing back at the crevasse behind them. "But there are many other caverns here to explore, and you're interrupting some delicate work here. Please leave."

"I think you have the wrong idea," Travis responded. "We're not geologists, and we're not here to study the rock formations."

"The Denobulan Science Academy sent us to find you," Malcolm added.

"Why?" Yolen asked flatly, is gaze still skeptical.

"The military," Trip answered. "There's been a coup. The new government's given all off-worlders three days to leave, and that was two days ago."

"Then you'd better hurry back," another scientist, this one recognizable as Zepht, retorted. "You don't want to be late, after all."

"We're not here to deliver the message," Trip snapped. "We've been ordered to take you out of here."

"That's impossible," Yolen sniffed. "We're not finished."

Tucker glared at Yolen. "We've got a lot of hard climbing ahead of us, so you'd better decide how much of this gear you can do without."

"We're sorry you came all this way for nothing," Yolen countered, "but we're not leaving."

"We're not leaving without you," Mayweather said firmly.

"You've warned us about the situation, _Ensign,_ " Yolen snapped furiously. "You've accomplished your mission."

"Not quite," Travis replied, meeting Yolen eye-to-eye. "My orders—from _your_ science academy—are to bring you back to the surface, and get you off the planet. We're not going back alone."

The third scientist, a woman named Trevix, chose this moment to jump into the fray. "If the Academy knew the progress we were making, they'd never have sent you," she countered. "If they knew the situation, they'd want us to stay."

"You don't understand," Trip said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "When the Xantorans get their hands on you, they'll throw you in prison. They may even execute you."

Yolen snorted. "All the more reason for us to stay down here where we're safe."

"You can't stay down here forever," Malcolm retorted angrily. "And as soon as you return to the surface, they'd find you."

"I doubt we'd have to stay that long," Zepht replied disdainfully. The government changes hands so often, everything will probably be cleared up by the time we're finished."

"And what if it's not?" Malcolm snapped. "Are you just going to hide down here?"

"No one's hiding." Yolen stared at Malcolm. "We're conducting crucial scientific work."

"I realize your work is important, but you can't risk your lives for these rocks!" Trip exploded with fury.

" _Rocks_?" Yolen shot back. "This is the most remarkable collection of speleothems we've ever seen!"

"And I still don't know what a speleothem is!" Trip shouted.

"Look around you!" This came from Trevix. "There's calcite, aragonite, boytroidal flowstone. We've spent fourteen years searching for tractosites this perfect!"

"They're not going anywhere!" Trip yelled. "They're rocks—they'll be here for another, oh, fifty million years or so!"

"Commander, these samples can provide clues to prevent seismic disasters on Denobula," Zepht added. "Our work here will improve the lives of millions!"

"Our orders were clear." Travis' voice cut through the heat with steel. "If you have a disagreement with them, you can take it up with the Denobulan Science Academy—after we get you out. How much time do you need to prepare?"

Yolen sighed loudly. "Two weeks, maybe three."

" _Weeks_?" Trip exclaimed.

Travis positioned himself between the combatants. "We've spent the last two days falling down cliffs and squirming through lava tubes," he said calmly, "just to find you. We have just enough time to get you out of here before the deadline expires, and I for one have no intention of ending up in front of a Xantoran firing squad. You have three hours to pack, and anything else will be left behind. If you're so confident that the government will change—" this was accompanied by a pointed glare at Zepht. "You'll be able to come back later to resume your work."

"You can't force us to leave," Yolen blustered. "What are you going to do, tie us up by our ankles and drag us out?"

Travis smiled. "If that's how you want to do it. These aren't just orders from _my_ bosses, they came from _your_ superiors, and we will follow them, whatever it takes. We sure didn't come this far to hear you say thanks, but no thanks, so pack up whatever you need for the return trip."

"We have a lot of samples," Yolen said grudgingly. "We'll need your help."

"Show us what we can do," Travis answered.

…

Ship's night had fallen by the time T'Pol went off duty. While she was technically an alpha-shift crewmember, and Captain Archer refused to schedule her for more than one standard eight-hour shift a day, T'Pol's Vulcan stamina and reduced need for rest made her fully capable of working extended hours, and she often stayed on duty past the official end of her shift.

And besides, "off duty" was frequently a misnomer for the science officer/first officer, who would routinely do additional work during her off time, as she was tonight. As T'Pol entered the mess hall, the majority of her attention was focused on her padd, analyzing sensor surveys of the Xantoras system.

Another part of her attention calmly noted that the mess hall was all-but-empty, a common occurrence for this hour of the night. It was one of the reasons that she waited to come here; like most Vulcans, she was uncomfortable in crowded rooms, and she avoided the mess hall during mealtimes.

As she poured herself a drink, her autonomic systems alerted her to an anomaly, and a greater portion of her mind flipped over to analyze it. The only other being in the room was Phlox—not unusual, as she and Phlox were the only crewmembers that did not require nightly sleep. However, she noted, the doctor appeared…different, somehow. He was tense, far tenser than usual, sitting silently without touching his food. She calmly recollected that there was an Antaran patient in sickbay; and given the history between Denobula and Antaria, she deduced an 87.459% chance that Phlox was bothered by Gathoni, and opted to investigate further.

"May I join you?" T'Pol asked, moving alongside Phlox's table.

"Actually," Phlox said, staring at his food, "I'm not in the mood for company, Commander."

T'Pol turned to leave. "Wait!" Phlox called out. "I'm sorry. Sit down."

"If you wish to be alone—"

"Sit! Please," Phlox amended. "I'd appreciate some company." He picked at his plate while T'Pol sat down at the table. "So, how are the, um, repairs to the transport coming?"

"Slowly," T'Pol answered. "The damage was extensive. Commander Tucker is unsure if we'll be able to salvage it." She hesitated for a moment; directness was a Vulcan virtue, but years spent among other humanoid species had taught her the need to lay a basis of friendly chatter before pushing to the real issue. Of course, she was still learning. "How is your patient?" she asked, jumping to the heart of the matter.

"Dying," Phlox observed melancholically. "But that seems to be his wish."

"That's unfortunate," T'Pol observed blandly.

"I've had patients refuse treatment before," Phlox went on, "but usually in the final stages of a terminal illness, never when they can be cured. This man—" he waved his fork. "He seems determined to die just to prove a point."

"His point is illogical," T'Pol countered. "It proves nothing, other than his own obstinacy."

"No, Sub-Commander, that's not it," Phlox said, stabbing at his Ma Po Tou Fu and Ku Lu Jou. "It bothers me that I understand his point."

T'Pol said nothing, waiting for Phlox to elaborate.

"When I was quite young, I wanted to take a trip to an arboreal planet near Denobula. It was a park of sorts, with a great variety of exotic animal life, beautiful flowers, large meadows…" Phlox smiled faintly. "Some friends and I had planned the journey for months, but the week before I was supposed to leave one of my grandmothers took me aside and told me I couldn't go."

T'Pol knew better than to ask which grandmother—Denobulan family relations were notoriously complicated. "Why did she forbid you from going?" she asked instead.

"She said the planet was tainted," Phlox answered. "Antarans had lived there once. They had been gone for generations, but she believed the place had been spoiled by their presence."

"Did you go anyway?" T'Pol asked.

"No. I was a dutiful child, and I listened to my elders," Phlox said, displeased with himself. "But when I grew up, and had children of my own, I took them there."

"Why did you do that?" T'Pol prodded.

"I was determined not to raise them as I was raised," Phlox explained. "There's an Earth philosopher—same person who cracked the atom, ironically enough. He once said that 'racial attitudes are nothing more than the collection of prejudices acquired by the age of eighteen.'"

T'Pol recognized that the original quote, attributable to Albert Einstein, referred to "common sense," but decided that the paraphrase was logical.

"We pass it down, from generation to generation, so casually that we often become ignorant of it," Phlox went on.

"Your children are fortunate to have a father who taught them to embrace other cultures," T'Pol offered.

"I certainly tried," Phlox said quietly. "I tried. But what can one man do against a storm?"

T'Pol noted that the doctor appeared close to tears. "Are you all right?"

"Thanks for your company," Phlox replied chokingly, pushing his food away and standing up from the table. "Good night, Commander."

…

Trip was really starting to hate the sight of rocks. Big rocks, small rocks, light rocks, dark rocks, sharp rocks and flat rocks, they were all becoming the same. _And don't get me started on how many tons are suspended over my head_ , he told himself. _If humans were supposed to dig this far into the belly of a planet, they would've—crap. I don't have a good ending for that._

"This is great, isn't it?" Travis called out from the front of the line. The three humans and three Denobulans were stretched out, doing belly-crawls through a tunnel barely tall enough to accommodate their bodies. "We might be the first beings who have ever seen these tunnels!"

Malcolm's muffled voice returned from the rear of the line. "Let's just hope that we return to tell about it!"

"Don't worry about it, Commander!" Travis replied, grinning. "It's like a walk in the park!"

"What kind of park looks like this?" Trip demanded, grunting as he squirmed along the dirt. In front of him, Yolen pulled to a halt. "What's wrong?" Trip asked, alarmed.

"Nothing," Yolen replied glibly.

Trip could see the scientist fiddling around with a rock crevasse along the side of the tunnel. "If nothing's wrong, then keep moving!"

"What's the problem?" Travis asked from the front, coming to a stop.

"I don't know," Trip answered. "Come on, Yolen. Let's go."

"I just need a moment," Yolen answered.

"We don't have a moment," Travis countered. He swept his palm beacon around just in time to see Yolen withdraw a sample container from the crevasse. "What are you doing?" He demanded. "Are those _more_ rock samples? You know we can't carry any more!"

"It took us six weeks to extract these from the rock bed!" Yolen retorted, opening the container to show a collection of sparkling geodes.

"We can come back for them another time," Travis countered firmly. "They're not much good if we're all dead."

"I'm not going to let all our work go to waste!" Yolen replied, pleading.

Trip snarled. "If you don't start moving in the next five seconds," he declared, "I'm going to take my phase pistol and shoot you in the ass!"

"But these are priceless!" Yolen exclaimed, trying to turn to address the commander.

Tucker contorted his body, trying to get to the phase pistol in his pack. "One!" He shouted out. "Two!"

…

Steeling his resolve, Phlox re-entered sickbay, trying to make as little noise as possible. When the doors _whooshed_ shut behind him, he cringed momentarily; but no invectives came hurling from Gathoni's bed, so either the Antaran was asleep, or simply didn't realize who had entered. _Small graces_ , Phlox told himself. _It's only going to get worse._

Among the plethora of incidental skills that Phlox had developed, he had once learned how to cross a hospital ward as quietly as possible, so as not to wake the inhabitants. He had little opportunity to practice on board the _Enterprise,_ put the lesson remained with him, and he put the skill to good use. _There's nothing devious about it,_ he reminded himself. _It's to help the patient rest._ A part of him wondered if it was simply a reflection of moral cowardice.

As he crossed the room, Phlox noted that Gathoni's eyes were shut; but according to the medical readouts, the Antaran was only in a light daze, rather than a solid somnolence. Phlox frowned momentarily, recognizing that it would make his duty harder; but he considered and rejected the possibility of applying a sedative.

It was when Phlox ran the medical scanner over Gathoni that the man's eyes opened wide.

"I'd prefer to spend my last few days alone!" the Antaran demanded loudly, seeing the Denobulan hovering over him. He waved a hand in front of the scanner, blocking its access to his body.

"That's your decision," Phlox said quietly, dropping the scanner to his side. He turned and strolled over to a console, talking over his shoulder. "But if my knowledge of Antaran life spans is correct, your last days won't come for, oh, another sixty years or so."

"I'm sure you have plenty of experience with Antaran life spans," Gathoni retorted automatically, before the words truly sank in. "Wait, what are you talking about? You said I only have a few more days! Did you misdiagnose me?"

Phlox faked a hearty chuckle. "No, the diagnosis was correct. But once the intra-cellular regeneration is complete, you should be able to—"

"I refused your treatment!" Gathoni shot out. "And I refuse it again, and I'll refuse it again! You are not going to perform your barbaric experiments on me!"

Phlox pretended to not hear. "I need to take you off the pain medication before I begin the procedure," he said, returning to the side of the biobed.

"Get the hell away from me!" Gathoni snarled, catching Phlox's hands in mid-air. "I will not let you touch me!"

"If I don't, you will die," Phlox replied.

"If I do let you touch me, I'm sure you'll do far worse!" Gathoni shot back. "Besides, it is _my_ choice if I'm ready to die, not yours!"

"As a Vulcan friend of mine would say," Phlox countered, "'choosing death over life is illogical.'"

"Not when that life would be owed to a _Denobulan_ slime devil!" Gathoni spit out.

"The cellular degeneration is affecting your synaptic pathways," the doctor observed. "I could determine that you lack sufficient mental faculty to make such a decision, and then perform the procedure."

"I'm sure you'd _love_ to declare an Antaran mentally unfit," Gathoni replied angrily. "But how do I know that you're not pumping my pathways full of something?" He narrowed his eyes. "How do I know that this whole 'cellular degeneration' isn't something _you're_ doing to me?"

"Because it would be unethical," Phlox replied blandly, maintaining his best Vulcan expression.

"I was told those same ethics prevented you from treating me against my will," Gathoni retorted. "And yet, you're saying you'll do just that!"

"One is a matter of life, the other is a matter of death," Phlox answered. "Completely different situations."

"No, I think I have it figured out now," Gathoni said, his voice dropping a degree. "Your ethics simply don't apply to Antarans, do they?"

"I did have nightmares," Phlox answered, seemingly apropos of nothing.

Gathoni was too confused to offer a retort. "What?"

Phlox left the side of the biobed to putter around sickbay. "You asked me if I had heard stories as a child about the Antarans," he clarified. "I did. My grandmother's grandmother lived through the last war. Her tales were passed down through the family. 'If you don't listen to your parents, the Antarans will get you,' I was told. 'If you sneak out at night, the Antarans will get you.' And my favorite, 'If you don't eat your vegetables, the Antarans will get you.'" He gave a mirthless snort. "I would lay in my bed at night thinking about her stories, terrified that one of those evil Antarans would climb through my window."

"And now you have a chance to slay your bogeyman, don't you? Am I going to suffer for all these—" Gathoni waved a hand. "Imagined slights?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Phlox scoffed. "I was merely answering your question."

"I hope your confession makes you feel better, Denobulan," Gathoni replied. "But it doesn't change a thing. I'm not letting you lay a finger on me."

Phlox set down a rack of test tubes. "You also asked me if I have children," he said. "I have five. And no, I never told them my grandmother's stories."

"Do you want me to jump up and applaud for you?" Gathoni replied scornfully. "Do you really think that it somehow clears the slate between our peoples?"

"No," Phlox said, after a moment of reflection. "But I would hope that it clears the slate between you and me."

There was a momentary silence before Gathoni spoke again. "What _did_ you tell them about the Antarans?" he asked, grudgingly.

"I told them the truth," Phlox answered simply, "as best I knew it. I told them about our military campaigns against your people. I told them about razing cities from the air, about herding civilians into detainment centers. I told them about the medical experiments and the environmental warfare." He frowned. "I told them how we had demonized your people, turned you into a faceless enemy intent on 'destroying the Denobulan way of life,' when in reality, _we_ were the faceless ones, destroying Antaria instead."

"Why did you do that?" Gathoni asked softly.

"I wanted my children to learn how to judge people as individuals, for what they really are, and not what the propaganda tells them."

"How would you know who we really are?" Gathoni replied bitterly. "I'm the first Antaran you've ever met, remember?"

"I don't know who you really are," Phlox admitted. "But the difference is, I'm willing to learn. I don't believe the propaganda, and I'm proud to say that my children would consider my grandmother's attitude archaic."

"It must be easy for them," Gathoni retorted. "They didn't grow up in refugee camps. They didn't grow up under scorched skies and burnt landscapes. They didn't grow up surrounded by reminders of the Wars for every day of their lives."

"No, they didn't. And I did fail with one of my children," Phlox added bitterly. "There are still Denobulans who fear Antarans, even hate them. My youngest son, Mettus, was seduced by those people."

"It must have been rough for you," Gathoni said scornfully. "I'm sure you wept every night about it."

"I did my best to convince him he was mistaken," Phlox went on, ignoring the barb. "I told him I wouldn't tolerate the values he was embracing. It created a rift between us. Maybe I didn't do enough to reach him."

"Are you just now figuring that out?" Gathoni snapped back.

"The last time we spoke was nearly ten years ago," Phlox continued, growing misty. "He went to live with his mother's third husband, a reactionary man if I ever saw one."

"What is the point of this, Denobulan?" Gathoni asked. "Am I supposed to make a miraculous deathbed conversion, decide to accept the treatment, all because you bared your conscience for me?" Gathoni laughed scornfully. "If I refuse your treatment, I will die. If I accept it, I may live. But I would rather die strong than live weak."

"You find _strength_ in dying in support of racial prejudice?" Phlox demanded, his misty tone vanishing. "You wanted to know what my children would think if they were here now, and I can tell you exactly what Mettus would think—he would be happy to have me grant your request and let you die. He would wonder why I was even trying to change your mind. But that is not the example I've tried to set for my children." Phlox paused to allow his anger to diminish. "Why not live and set an example for yours?"

…

A rumbling noise came soaring up the tunnel, as the mountain started to shake around the party. The narrow tunnel quaked, the rock lining flexing under the stress of the tremor, and small rocks and clumps of dirt fell from the ceiling. "Go!" Malcolm shouted, hearing the unmistakable sound of collapsing rock behind him. Except for the grunts and groans, the group fell silent as they hurried up the tunnel, pausing every few seconds to shield their heads from cascading rock, and Travis swore loudly as a clump hit his wounded foot.

There was no time for finesse, and the group wormed forward as fast as they could, thanking the deities that the tunnel was short. As they approached the mouth, each person forced themselves out, falling onto the floor of a cavern and turning to pull the next out. The sound of rock falls reverberated upwards, keeping their pace at something just below panic, until Malcolm made his way out moments before the entire tunnel collapsed behind them.

They were far from safe. They were in a large cavern, and in addition to the small rocks and dirt clumps that fell from the ceiling high above, larger rocks and boulders were cascading downwards. Travis had to jump aside one-footed as one rock plunged down at him, shattering upon its impact, and he was showered with tiny pebbles.

"We have to keep moving!" Travis shouted. "This cave isn't safe!" He flashed his beacon across the floor of the chamber, highlighting the opposing wall. Draping downwards were the flex-cables used in their earlier descent. "C'mon, this way!" Travis ordered, leading the charge through falling rock.

It was a hair-raising dash as large rocks continued to crash to the rock floor, and even the smaller rocks had enough momentum for a deadly effect. There was no artwork to their dash: zigzagging across the floor would make little difference, but add more time, so it quickly became a mad run. Starting out at the front, Travis eventually brought up the rear of the pack, hopping along on his one good foot.

Seconds later, they had crossed the floor, and Trip and Malcolm hurriedly began attaching their abseiling lines just as the cavern shook with another forceful tremor. The two officers flattened themselves against the cliff face, letting the torrent of rock ricochet over them.

"It doesn't feel quite right for seismic activity!" Travis declared, pulling himself up behind the two officers.

"It almost feels like weapons fire to me!" Malcolm shouted, making himself heard over the racket. "Pretty high yield, no less!"

"Shit on a stick!" Trip swore. "We still got two hours until the deadline!"

"Someone must've gotten trigger-happy," Travis opined, fastening his cable with deft figures.

"Or they changed the deadline," Malcolm added darkly. He turned to face the Denobulan geologists, who were seemingly unperturbed by the ruckus. "You better get your climbing gear on!"

"We don't have any climbing gear," Yolen said, shrugging. Trip stared at him blankly.

"You mean to tell us," Travis replied, "that you climbed down this rock face without any ropes, or any safety equipment at all?"

"Exactly," Zepht answered with a satisfied grin.

"In that case," Malcolm said, gesturing up at the wall, "lead the way." The humans watched in surprise as the Denobulans began to scale the cliff, clinging to the rock like spiders. "I wonder if Phlox can do that," Malcolm muttered to himself.

"Commander! Duck!" Travis called out alarmingly, causing Malcolm to look up just in time to see a large boulder crashing down at him. "Get against the wall!"

The party hugged the rock face as the boulder crashed over them, sending down a torrent of gravel in its wake.

When the cascade subsided, Travis breathed deeply. "Everyone all right?" he called out, choking on the dust.

"I'm fine," Malcolm answered, followed by a chorus of "yes" and "me, too."

Travis grimaced, feeling the pain shooting through his foot. "Let's keep moving," he ordered. "We don't want to get trapped down here."

…

The comm signal beeped in Hoshi's ear. "Captain!" she called out, getting Archer's attention.

Archer jogged across the bridge. "Is that the military governor?" he demanded impatiently.

"Yes, sir," Hoshi answered. "He says his time is precious." It had taken all of Hoshi's diplomatic skills just to get a few minutes.

"So is mine," Archer snarled. "Put him on the speaker." Hoshi nodded and inputted the commands.

"Captain Archer," the governor's voice came over the bridge speakers, dripping with displeasure. "I thought I made myself clear. Why are you bothering me?"

"You did make yourself clear," Archer replied forcefully. "Which makes me wonder why you're attacking my people."

"What could you possibly be talking about?"

"You approved our rescue mission to the caverns. Your deadline doesn't go into effect for another hour and a half," Archer bellowed. "But one of your patrols has opened fire on the mountain!"

"I can assure you," the governor's voice came back, "that they're not targeting your crewmen or the Denobulans."

"Then who are they shooting at?"

"Terrorists, who have been fighting on behalf of the previous regime. They refuse to accept the shift in power."

"Your internal disagreements aren't my problem!" Archer shot back. "But your weapons fire is endangering my people! If you keep it up, you're going to trigger more seismic activity!" The captain paced the bridge in fury. "You've got to wait until they're in the clear!"

"And it's not my problem if your people stumble into the crossfire," the governor retorted. "We're conducting a legitimate military operation. We're not going to hold off for some off-worlders."

"It's what we agreed to!" Archer snarled.

"We agreed to give you three days," the governor replied sardonically. "We said nothing about forgoing military activity in the vicinity."

Archer choked back his rage, and turned to T'Pol, speaking loudly so that the comm system would transmit his words. "Target the patrol that's firing on the caves," he ordered. Even though the governor couldn't see, T'Pol gave an affirmative nod and readied the weapons; she recognized that it wasn't a bluff.

"Don't be foolish, Captain," the governor answered. "If you attack us, we _will_ retaliate."

T'Pol spoke loudly, mimicking the captain. "Locked on to the coordinates," she announced.

"Charge weapons," Archer ordered.

The governor chuckled unpleasantly. "Do you really want to start a war with us, Captain?"

Archer smiled. "The question is, do you really want to start a war with us?" He waited for a moment. "It sounds like you've got your hands full already, and I'm more than willing to fight for the sake of those six people. Do you really want to find yourself fighting on two fronts? Do you really want me assisting these terrorists of yours?"

The governor's reply contained no perturbation, but the words said everything. "I'll order our fighters to hold off until the end of the deadline. But when the time comes, Captain, you will leave the system, with or without your crewmen."

…

Phlox returned to sickbay, a little less quietly and a little more confidently, feeling a little spring in his step. His felt good about his earlier conversation with Gathoni; the captain had successfully protected the away team; and Phlox's Zancorium Rose Blossoms were in full bloom.

Despite his optimism, Phlox's face still drew long when he saw the Antaran. Gathoni still lay flat on his back, hooked up to a dozen medical monitors, and his labored breathing could be heard across the room. _It's just unfair,_ Phlox thought to himself. _But maybe we can make it better._

"You wanted to see me?" Phlox asked as an introduction, taking his usual station beside the biobed. Gathoni looked weaker; his skin had grown paler, and his facial ridges were becoming more pronounced as he steadily lost body mass.

"Yes, I did," Gathoni replied softly, unable to gather sufficient strength to speak at regular volume. He coughed a couple times before continuing. "What you said about your son—you seem sincere in your desire to set an example for your children."

"I have tried my best," Phlox murmured.

"I wish more Denobulans felt that way."

"Many do," Phlox answered. "There are still far too many who nurse the old grudges, but with each generation, they've become fewer and fewer. One day, who knows? Perhaps we'll be able to leave behind the old animosities entirely."

"I have to admit," Gathoni, "even after meeting you, I find that hard to believe." He coughed again, sending a clump of phlegm shooting outwards.

"Perhaps if you met more of us," Phlox suggested, keeping his hope alive. "I have a number of colleagues I could introduce you to."

"That seems unlikely." Gathoni's chest rattled in unison with the depressing words.

"Why not?" Phlox countered. "Once we have you out of here, they'd be happy to meet up with you. We could, ah, arrange a neutral site somewhere, if you'd rather not come to Denobula."

"That's not what I meant." Gathoni's voice rattled again. "I'm refusing your treatment, Doctor."

Phlox was too aghast to realize that Gathoni had, for the first time, addressed him as _Doctor._ "What can you possibly mean?"

"You made me think about my own family," Gathoni answered, closing his eyes as he spoke. The radiation was taxing his energy, making it impossible to stay wake for any substantial period of time. "I have children as well—only three, but Antaran custom only allows me to have one wife."

"Don't you want to live for them? To spend more time with them? To set the right example?" Phlox was still flabbergasted.

"Thirty million deaths, Doctor," Gathoni replied. "I won't tell my children to forget those who were murdered."

"You don't need to die in order to make that point!"

"If I live because of a Denobulan, I will be betraying their memories," Gathoni answered softly. "I'm sorry, Doctor, I truly am. I've come to respect you; if this was just about you and me, I would accept the treatment. But this is about stuff far greater than the two of us."

"What is greater than your life?" Phlox retorted angrily.

"Doctor, I've made my decision. Please leave now; I need to sleep."

…

The three humans slowly pulled themselves up the flex-cable, relying on their own strength to lift them centimeter by centimeter. It was slow, it was tedious, and it was frustrating, and Trip and Malcolm stared with unconcealed animosity as the Denobulans scaled the rock face with the lightness of an Earth gecko.

"Commander," Yolen shouted down from a ledge, several meters above the humans. The Denobulans were waiting there for the Starfleet officers to catch up. "The bombing seems to have stopped!"

 _Small treasures,_ Trip thought sourly.

"We need to get out of here before it starts up again," Travis called out. Broken foot and all, he was still above the other two.

Trip sighed. "On my way, sir!"

…

Archer's fingers danced a furious beat on the arm of his command chair as he waited for news from the planet below. The deadline had come and gone without any sign from the away team, and the captain was left with little to do except ponder what may have happened. Where they simply late? Had they made it to the surface, but were arrested by military patrols? Had they met some disaster in the bowels of the mountain? A rock slide, a fall off a cliff, an injury? These and other possibilities ran through Archer's head and repeated themselves in a constant loop as he worked to maintain a calm demeanor.

It wasn't alpha shift—the day crew had officially gone off-duty several hours before, but Archer had exercised command prerogative to keep his senior staff on bridge watch. For T'Pol, it was no big deal; she was always looking for additional duty shifts anyway. Lieutenant Sato stayed at the comm station, putting in a yeoman-like performance as every strand of her brain focused on the static coming across the channels, trying to discern any hint of a signal from below. Elsewhere, Ensign Chase still sat at the helm, but Malcolm's relief officer at tactical had departed, due for shipboard duties elsewhere. The evening shift officer sat at the post.

Archer's fingers danced madly until he could take no more. He jumped up from his chair, and trotted to the communications console. "Try them again," he ordered.

Hoshi looked up at him doubtfully; she had just tried five minutes earlier, and it was extremely unlikely that they'd pick up a signal, but she followed the order just the same. " _Enterprise_ to Shuttlepod One," she said, her fingers opening the comm channel. "Please respond, Shuttlepod One."

Static returned across the channel.

Archer dropped his head in frustration. Sitting around and waiting—this went against his nature, and he was rapidly reaching the end of his tolerance. He glanced around, noticing the crew watching him, waiting for his decision. "Prep Shuttlepod Two," he ordered. "Have a security team meet me in the launch bay."

"Captain," T'Pol said with what amounted to alarm for a Vulcan, "the military has mobilized their military patrols. They'll detect a shuttle launch."

"We'll deal with them," Archer replied over his back as entered the turbolift.

The shaft doors hadn't yet closed when a familiar voice cut through the comm static. "Tucker to _Enterprise._ " It was faint, it was covered in distortion, but it was recognizable.

Archer jumped out of the turbolift ahead of the closing doors. "Archer here, Trip," he called out loudly. "You're cutting it pretty close. The deadline passed two hours ago."

"Better late than never," Trip's voice responded. "We're ready to leave the planet's surface."

"The Denobulans?" Archer asked.

"All aboard. Along with some very rare speleothems." The static nearly swallowed his following words. "I still say they look like common rocks."

T'Pol's report cut off the captain's grin. "Captain, there's a small craft closing on the shuttlepod. It's a patrol ship."

…

Inside the shuttlepod, the early mood of relief was rapidly replaced by wearied duty with the words that came across the channel. "You've got company, Trip," Archer's muffled voice reported.

Malcolm snapped into action, years of honed reflex coming to the forefront. "I've got them," he reported in clipped tones, running a tactical survey of the surrounding atmosphere. "Three Lethean military fighters, bearing…one-eight-four-mark-two-seven, distance…they're on top of us!" The shuttlepod shuddered with the impact of energy weapons.

"Everyone hang on back there!" Trip shouted out to the cabin's occupants. The engineer had taken the shuttle's helm as Travis lay in the back, already sedated, and Trip plunged the shuttle into a tight, corkscrew turn.

The maneuver successfully threw one of the fighters, but the other two kept sharp on the shuttle's tail, and the pod shook again as it took an additional barrage of fire. "Minimal damage!" Malcolm reported. "They're using low-power particle beams!"

"Yeah, but there's two of them to one of us!" Trip retorted. He pulled the pod out of the turn and angled upwards, triggering an induced overload in the thrusters. The pod shot upwards, covering kilometers per second.

"Do you need assistance?" Archer's voice could barely be heard.

"Stand by, _Enterprise_!" Trip called out in response. "Malcolm, can those fighters leave the atmosphere?"

Reed was silent for a moment as he checked his sensors scans. "I believe so, Commander!" he said at last. "I'm picking up another trio hot on intercept!"

"Hang on to your lunches!" Trip shouted, and he put the pod into a sharp dive, leaving the occupants feeling weightless. They plunged downwards, and Trip noticed with delight that the military fighters were unable—or at least unwilling—to match the maneuver.

"Commander, we have a clear route on heading two-four-three-mark-one-zero!" Malcolm reported, watching the sensor readings carefully. With an abrupt shift of momentum, Trip yanked the pod back onto an upward trajectory, feeling the power of several g's as the inertial dampeners were overwhelmed. Tucker fought against the blood loss from his head and noted wryly that Malcolm's course took them right between two of the fighters—neither was willing to fire for fear of hitting their comrade. In seconds, the shuttlepod shot out of the mesosphere.

Jinking their course hard to port, Trip goosed the throttle for additional speed as the gravity pull of the fourth planet began to fade away. "We still have two on our tail!" Malcolm reported, but the shuttlepod was on the home stretch. As the military fighters labored to catch up, Trip saw what he was looking for: the graceful presence of the _Enterprise_ , orbiting above the final tier of the ionosphere, and smiling grimly, he adjusted their course heading.

The military fighters gave a final effort to close the gap, but victory was not to be theirs: before they could pull within firing range, Trip brought the shuttlepod inside the protective umbrella of _Enterprise_ 's pulse cannons. Without orders to do battle with the larger, more powerful Starfleet ship, the fighters willingly pulled off from their pursuit.

"Tucker to _Enterprise_!" Trip called out. "Stand by for docking!" He smiled flippantly. "I think they were just trying to give us a little kick on the way out!"

…

With one crisis resolved, Captain Archer made his way to sickbay to address another. He was a little surprised to find Phlox standing motionless in the doorway. The silence hung over the room like an oppressive blanket, stifling even the usual clicks and whistles of the medical equipment.

"How is he?" Archer finally asked, breaking the uncomfortable stillness. He addressed his physician with concern.

"As well as he can be," Phlox replied softly. "I've done what I can to make him comfortable. He asked to be sedated for the end." Across sickbay, Archer could see Gathoni's chest rising and falling peacefully.

Archer stood with Phlox. "I'm glad I didn't order you to treat him," the captain said reflectively. "I wasn't looking forward to throwing you in irons for disobeying me."

"Neither was I," Phlox murmured.

They stood in silence for several minutes before Archer broke it again. "You did the right thing, Doctor," he said finally. "I know it isn't easy, but you did the right thing."

"I'm not sure that I did," Phlox replied, his eyes growing misty. "I keep wondering if I should have done more."

"Phlox," Archer said, drawing in a breath, "if you _had_ treated him against his will, what would you be telling me right now?"

Phlox smiled faintly. "Touché, Captain. But this—" he choked up as he searched for the words. "It just—it wasn't supposed to end this way."


End file.
